


And all the still, small moments in between...

by Brightest_Moonstone



Category: Sly Cooper (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, OCs - Freeform, OCs everywhere, One-Shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-06-23 07:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15601260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brightest_Moonstone/pseuds/Brightest_Moonstone
Summary: It can be easy to forget that beneath all the myth and history surrounding the Cooper ancestors that they were only people too.A series of one shots about small moments experienced by Cooper ancestors across history.





	1. England, 1818

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to an entirely self indulgent series of ficlets about Sly's ancestors.
> 
> OCs and headcanons abound and if that's not your thing... well you've been warned.
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy.

When Caroline Wickham was twelve her older brother caught her sharing her first kiss with her friend Tom, the gardener's son.

He had then run straight to their father to tattle. 

In a rage Lord Wickham had taken a switch and whipped Caroline across her palms until they bled, lecturing her about the purity, the nobility of her family line.

“No daughter of mine will disgrace herself by associating with _servants_.” Her father growled, his bushy red tail bristling. 

Then to Caroline’s horror, despite her tears and pleas he had dismissed Tom’s entire family.

“It was all my fault Father please…”

“I will not have such an influence in my service.” Lord Wickham snarled, and that had been that.

In retaliation Caroline had stolen a truly hideous brooch from her mother’s jewellery box and begged one of her maids to slip it to the family so that they might support themselves.

Caroline had then accepted the switch again when her mother had discovered the hideous thing missing, saying that she had lost it in the lake on the grounds while playing dress up with it.

She would remember this cruelty as she lay in her bed at night stretching out hands that would never again properly close.

 

When Caroline was nineteen London society erupted into gossip, the daughter of the Earl of Pembroke was marrying new money. The son of a barrel maker of all things.

And whilst the matrons had sneered that the match had come about because the Earl’s family, for all their lands and titles was skinflint, the young women Caroline spent the season with whispered…

“Oh Caroline you should see her, Sophie looks so happy.”

 

By the time Caroline was twenty-three her family was in dire straits. Oh they tried to keep up appearances and her father still blustered about legacy and purity but there was no denying that the money had run out.

Which was how a barrel maker and his family came to be sitting in their parlour.

Thaddeus Cooper and his wife Jane made a handsome couple, tastefully dressed, polite and smiling. Their two children, second son Edmund and their teenage daughter Anne seemed to be of similar temperaments, civil… to the point of being boring.

But they were rich so Caroline must try and be charming or at least that’s what her family kept telling her.

“Your gardens look so lovely Miss Wickham.” Anne Cooper said staring longingly out the bay windows. “Perhaps we could take a stroll?”

Caroline seized on the opportunity to escape the increasingly banal conversation. “Of course Miss Cooper, I’d be delighted to give you a tour.”

Anne leapt to her feet. “Wonderful.” She grabbed her brother by the arm dragging him to his feet, “you come too Ed.”

Edmund cast a gentle smile in Caroline’s direction, “if it pleases Miss Wickham.”

For an instant Caroline saw a spark of some mischief flash through his golden-hazel eyes, entirely at odds with the quiet façade he had so far presented she found herself blinking in surprise. “Of.. of course Mister Cooper it would be my pleasure.”

 

Being sixteen ( _and a half!_ As she had indignantly pointed out) Anne Cooper was a lively girl, full of chatter as soon as the three of them left the house to stroll the grounds. She pointed delighted at different flowers and took off at an almost indecent pace when she spotted the hedge maze.

“Your sister seems much more at ease outside.” Caroline remarked.

Edmund spun his gem topped cane in his hand, “ ah she’s always been like that. Our mother is the same.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, she finds London stifling. It’s one of the reasons that we travel so much.”

“I’m jealous.” Caroline murmured tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. “I’ve never been further than Bath… Father distrusts the Continent.”

“A pity, there are so many wonderful places in the world it seems to me a great shame to never see any of them.”

Caroline plucked at the edges of her gloves, her hands ached -- it would rain tonight. “I would like to I think, I have just never had cause…”

“That is fair, we are lucky I suppose. We have a large and scattered family, many excuses to go visiting.”

They entered the winding hedge maze. 

“Is that so?”

“Yes, in Africa, the Americas, Arabia and on the Continent.” Not a brag simply a statement of fact. 

“My goodness.” Caroline smiled. “It seems barrel making truly is a global trade.”

Edmund laughed at that, “oh yes you could certainly call being _a Cooper_ a global trade.”

They caught up with Anne, waiting for them by an alcove containing a stone bench and a tree.

“Here is good Ed, no lines of sight from the house and a good lookout point.”

Edmund nodded, “perfect. Keep watch won’t you Annie?”

“Of course. Be quick.” Anne said and promptly scampered up the tree.

Caroline’s mouth dropped open, “…what… what is she doing?”

“Giving us some privacy.” Edmund said as if his sister disappearing up a tree was the most natural thing in the world. “Shall we sit?” He gestured to the bench.

A little weak at the knees Caroline sank onto the bench, “does she do that often?”

Anne reappeared, hanging upside down from a branch. “You talk as if you have never climbed a tree before.”

“Oh.. well… I haven’t.”

“But you’re a squirrel surely you would be a natural. I can teach you…”

“Trees don’t talk Annie.” Edmund interrupted.

Screwing up her snout Anne stuck her tongue out at her brother and disappeared back among the foliage.

There was a beat of silence as Edmund pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it in his lap. “Miss Wickham… may I call you Caroline?”

Although she gasped at the impropriety Caroline nodded. “Why not? It would not be the most unusual thing to happen today.”

“If I might be frank with you Caroline, I want you to know that we accepted the invitation here today because you and I share a mutual friend.”

“I should think we share several.” Caroline murmured thinking of the many passing acquaintances her parents had in London.

“This friend speaks very highly of you, he also said he would understand if you did not remember him but he asked me to pass on two things. His greetings, and this…” He unfolded the handkerchief passing it to Caroline. “Here.”

Caroline frowned puzzled, “I can’t imagine…” She trailed off looking down at what had been wrapped in the handkerchief. A familiar, hideous brooch sat in her lap. She stared dumbfounded, “where did you… how did you…?”

“There is a young man who works for our family, one Tom Foster.”

Caroline caught his sleeve, “you know Tom? Pray tell me is he well?”

Edmund patted her hand, “he is very well. Happily married with two little boys and working in our factory in London.”

“I am so glad. I worried for years that it was my fault that they were sent away.”

“You cannot be blamed for doing what children do.”

Caroline pulled nervously at the edge of her gloves, “I found out recently that Father was looking for any excuse because he could not pay their wages.” She ran a thumb over the jewelled brooch. “I can’t believe he kept it, I gave it to them in the hopes that they might break it up and sell it.”

“He tried, my father is the one who bought it.”

“So he is the one who has held onto it all this time?”

“I’m the one who kept it actually.” Edmund confessed. “I have been curious about you since hearing Tom’s stories. I am glad to have finally met you.” He leaned over and tapped the brooch. “May I ask you something? This wasn’t yours was it, it hardly seems the style for a young girl.”

“No. I stole it, a wicked thing to do I know but what Father did to Tom and his family… I could not just stand by and do nothing.”

“You wanted to help.”

“Yes, it was… I just felt…”

“That it was the right thing to do?”

“Yes _!_ ” Caroline knew she should be horrified by her complete candour in front of a stranger but honestly it felt good to get it off her chest.  
Edmund fidgeted with his cane. “I hope that this does not sound too presumptuous but you strike me as someone who does not have patience for injustice, someone who wishes to broaden their horizons. Someone whom I think would fit in well amongst my family.” 

Caroline ducked her head, “are you proposing to me Mister Cooper.”

He coughed, “Edmund please. I… I would ask nothing of you but if you wished it I could help you leave this place.”

Caroline’s breath caught as she warred with herself. Freedom, freedom, freedom she could hear it with her heartbeat, so close, close enough to taste. Hope was dizzying on her tongue.

But…

Even though her family wanted her to marry money, God knew her Father was so _proud_. 

“I do not know if my Father will agree.” She said meekly.

“Probably not.” Edmund shrugged. “I saw how your parents looked at my mother, I think they do not approve of the fact that she is mixed.”

“She is? I had no idea.” Caroline said truthfully, Edmund and Anne’s mother looked every bit as much a raccoon as they did.

“Yes, Mother is from Barbados. Actually I believe she and Father are distant cousins, so her father was a raccoon but her mother, our grandmother is a mongoose.”

Caroline gnawed her incisors against her lip, “our… family… my family has only ever intermarried amongst red squirrels. I should know Father made me memorise our genealogy charts.”

Edmund took her hands and she could feel the callouses on his palms through his gloves, a working man’s hands. “In any case, regardless of what your family say if it is your wish for me to return I shall. And if it is your wish to leave this place I shall make sure that you do.”

Caroline blushed, “that is a very… impressive offer for someone you do not know -- Edmund.”

“I think an acquaintance might grow into friendship given time. I would like to know you. I’ve heard about you, and not just from Tom’s stories. The gossips say that you are wilful, clever and all manner of wonderful things.”

Caroline looked away still blushing.

“I could offer you travel.” He continued. “A chance to see the world. My brother Will must stay in London for the family business but as the second son I may wander as I please.”  
It was a very tempting offer. “I do not know Edmund this is very sudden…”

“Please do think on it.” He said softly.

There was a rustling above them and Anne swung down from the tree, landing lightly on the ground. Caroline stared, the girl has scarcely even wrinkled her dress. “Are you done? I hope you are, someone is coming.”

“As if you weren’t up there listening to every word.” Edmund said fondly dropping Caroline’s hands to pluck leaves from his sister’s hair. “Let us go back.”

 

The three of them wandered back to the main house, escorted by one of the few footmen still remaining in the Wickham’s service.

 

The Coopers made their farewells and Caroline felt Edmund’s gaze linger on her as he handed his mother and sister up into their carriage.

“A pleasure Miss Wickham.” He said climbing up himself.

Caroline nodded swallowing.

As the carriage pulled away Anne shoved her brother aside leaning out the window to wave enthusiastically. “Goodbye Caroline, we shall see you soon.”

Smiling Caroline waved back but the expression died on her lips as she caught sight of her father’s face.

“By God what was I thinking to consider lowering myself to such an association. Damn their so-called fortune we shall find another way.” He turned back toward the house.

Caroline considered that pretty rich since she was the one being married off.

“No breeding whatsoever.” Her mother agreed. “Mutts the lot of them. We will find you a more suitable match Caroline, one with money and a proper pedigree.” She turned to the nearest servant, “open the windows and air out the parlour I shall not step foot in that room until it has been cleaned.”

Caroline trailed after her parents as they walked up the stairs into the house, she watched her father peel off his gloves and throw them into the drawing room fireplace. He had just shook Thaddeus Cooper’s hand with those gloves on, wished him a pleasant journey.

Caroline felt her stomach turn. “I quite enjoyed Mister Cooper’s company.” She hazarded.

The pair of them turned and stared at her as though one of the armchairs had started speaking.

“I should hardly think that matters.” Her mother said.

“It simply seems to me that they conducted themselves with grace and civility and Mister Cooper and I…”

Lord Wickham crossed the room and gripped Caroline’s arm, shaking her like a doll. “Listen here my girl you are going to do what is best for this family and what I say is best is best. Understood?”

Caroline dropped her gaze, “yes father.”

 

She excused herself tugging at the hems of her gloves as she went, her hands ached, burned.

She thought of kindness to a stranger, freedom and wildness in equal measure all of it offered freely. Of calloused fingers brushing against her scarred palms.

Think on it, Edmund had told her.

But she didn’t need to.

Caroline’s mind was made up.

 

A month later tongues were wagging in London, Lord and Lady Wickham’s daughter had eloped, disappeared in the night…

 _With a barrel maker’s son of all things_.

An embarrassment, a disgrace they whispered. Cut ties with her family and abandoned them to destitution.

But even as the rumours flew Caroline Cooper was untouched by them, far away, free. She was standing at the rail of a ship, salt wind lashing at her hair , hand in hand with her new husband. 

On her way to see the world.


	2. Arabia, 940 AD

Salim al Kupar paused to pull the scarf from his face and rub the sand from his fur. He smiled, the end of the journey was in sight.

He was home.

He waved for the rest of his group to wait as he gazed fondly at the stand of caves that he and his forty thieves called home. He was rightly proud of this place, a natural hidden oasis improved with hammer and chisel. An underground river provided water and fish, planted fruit trees flourished and the sandstorms of the desert even disguised their cooking fires.

It was a good place.

Tugging his scarf back over his snout Salim raised a hand began leading his group down the dunes toward the entrance.

From behind there was a shuffling then a cry and a golden furred cheetah went sliding past Salim, flailing and scrambling for purchase on the sand.

There were a few, not unkind snickers and then someone called out, “keen to be home then Malek?”

“Quite.” Was the reply from the tangle of robes and limbs at the bottom of the steep dune.

There was more laughter as Salim and the other three members of the group carefully finished their descent. 

Salim bent to help Malek stand, “are you hurt my love?” 

“Only my dignity.” Malek grunted trying to shake himself free of sand.

“Even after all these years Malek you are still the grocer’s son.” The Lion patted Malek’s back as he passed.

Malek’s spotted cheeks coloured, “and you still smell like old cheese.” He retorted. “It seems some things are always meant to be.”

Salim clapped a hand on each of their shoulders, “do not squabble now brothers. We have had a long journey, let us eat and rest within our home and we will all feel the better for it.”

“You are right Salim.” The Panther agreed, throwing a laden saddlebag at The Lion’s head. “Come, we have treasure to count.”

 

The five of them emerged from the hidden tunnel into the network of caves, away from the heat of the sun children played and men and women talked and cooked over fire pits. 

A great cry went up at the sight of Salim.

Children swarmed around him, hanging off his arms and clambering onto his shoulders. “Father! Father!”

“Salim welcome home.” 

Hands reached out to touch him and tug at the bag he carried.

“What did you bring us to eat?”

“Let us see the treasure Salim, what have you returned with?”

“Father, Father I can climb to the top of the cliff wall now.”

“Salim how was your journey? We were so worried.”

“Father have you brought us presents? We were good like we promised.”

Prying small raccoons from his extremities and thrusting them toward the nearest open arms. Salim pulled away from the reaching hands and blew a piercing whistle.

“Enough! Show some respect for your leader, have I not travelled far? Across burning sands and beneath the unrelenting sun? Have I not earned a moment of respite?”

The throng fell back a step and Salim opened his arms wide, “ah and I can breathe once more. Now, let us begin again.” He began to move through the crowd, greeting lovers and comrades and ruffling his children’s hair as he passed. “It is good to be home.” He declared.

Malek wormed his way to Salim’s side, “I must rest.” 

Salim dangled the children he’d been juggling by their ankles, the pair of them squealed delightedly. “Of course. I will join you once my duties are done.” He watched Malek push his way toward the living quarters. Turning back, he arranged to spread the cut among the rest of the band and organise climbing lessons for the little ones.

_Ah, it was so much work to be a leader._

 

Once the crowd dispersed, Salim moved through the caves checking in on his other children and greeting his favourites.

“Soraya?” He called ducking through a curtain. “How is our son today?”

A very pregnant and somewhat put out looking golden jackal reclined on a pile of cushions, “impatient.” She said. “As am I.” She narrowed kohl-lined eyes. “I will bear you no more children Salim if this is what awaits me every time.” She turned to the pretty raccoon woman beside her. “How much longer must I endure this Hadiya?”

Hadiya, Salim’s eldest daughter, a woman who had chosen not be a thief but a doctor knelt at Soraya’s side tracking the jackal’s pulse. “A few more weeks, a month and a half at most.”

Soraya’s slender, pointed ears drooped and she raked fingers through her short, dark hair. “A month and a half?” She gestured at her swollen abdomen. “No Salim, there shall be no more children by me.”

“As you like.” Salim bent to kiss Soraya and then Hadiya’s forehead. “Hello daughter.”

Hadiya smiled, her hazel eyes bright. “Hello Father, I heard a commotion and thought it might be you.” She adjusted her headscarf and began packing up her kit. “Are you going to see Mother? She has a visitor for you.”

Salim grinned hugely. “How wonderful, yes I will see her after Soraya.”

Hadiya nodded but she was already circling Salim, a critical look in her eye. “Did you eat properly while you were away?” She prodded his belly. “You must take my advice Father, fewer sweets and smaller portions. It’s not healthy at your age.”

“Tch. What is this lecture?” Salim protested, he laid the back of his hand against his head and leant back dramatically. “How have I become so unfortunate to have my daughter talk to me so?”

Hadiya poked him again, this time in a knotted scar on his chest. “I am also your doctor. Who stitched you up after Hakeem stabbed you? Me. I did. Whose hands delivered your last three children into the world? Mine did! And if you want to be vital and energetic in your old age, you would. Listen. To. Me.” She wagged a threatening finger at Salim before snatching up her bag and storming out.

Soraya laughed. “Ah she is indeed The Serpent’s daughter. Is this what I have to look forward to Salim?”

Salim smiled affectionately and bent to kiss Soraya again. “Oh yes, but what an adventure it will be.”

 

Salim’s last stop before he returned to his own quarters was to Aaleyah. First of his forty thieves, trusted second and mother to five of his children. Cunning and ruthless in equal measure she was both the flower and the serpent beneath it.

Someone had once said that Salim cultivated loves in the same way other men cultivated grapes, Salim had laughed, enjoying the comparison. Salim thought that if his band of thieves were the fruit then Malek was the roots, grounding and sustaining and Aaleyah was the vine, strong backed and supporting all. 

“Salim, you are home.” Aaleyah, a lithe grey wolf rose to her feet as Salim entered. 

“My Flower.” Salim greeted her pulling her into an embrace he looked her over. “Have you grown pale in my absence?”

Aaleyah tilted her head, “even the hardiest of flowers will wither without the sun.”

Salim blinked at the unexpected sentimentality, “are you ill? Should I call Hadiya for you?” 

Aaleyah swatted at him, “allow me to grow soft in my dotage or would you rather I still greeted you with my blade drawn?”

“Ah what exciting days those were.” Salim said hanging his cane on the wall beside Aaleyah’s wickedly curved scimitar. “But I like these days too.”

“Tea?” Aaleyah asked, already lifting the pot from her brazier.

“Nothing would make me happier.” Salim said sitting cross-legged. “Hadiya tells me we have a guest.”

Aaleyah scoffed, “what a cruel child she is to spoil her mother’s surprise.” She turned to call over her shoulder. “Cassim. Cassim are you awake? Come and greet your father.”

There was a rustling sound from behind the curtain that separated the bedrolls from the rest of the cavern. A young man emerged, a raccoon his fur grey like Aaleyah’s except for the top of his head where it was the same rich purple as Salim’s. 

He smiled hazel eyes crinkling, “hello Father.”

Salim crowed, leaping to his feet he swept Cassim into his arms spinning him around as he had when Cassim had been a small boy. First born and favourite (not that Salim had favourites among his children but if he did Cassim would be it.) “Ha! Ha-ha. My boy. My son, it is good to see you home.” He drew back, cupping Cassim’s face in his hands. “You look well. When did you arrive?”

“At dawn. I travelled all night to get here.”

“And you will stay until the rainy season I trust?”

“Yes Father.”

“Good. Now, where is my grandson?” Salim peered expectantly at the curtain.

“Ali is far too young for a desert crossing Father. He and my wife are staying with her mother until I return. We will all come in another year or so when he is stronger.”

Salim clucked his tongue. “Ah well you are here and we are forty again.” 

“Did we lose someone in my absence?” Cassim asked seating himself next to his mother.

“Amir left us.” Aaleyah said pouring tea. “For the best I think, he was not cut out for this life. Too proud. And he was jealous of Malek.”

Cassim gave a mirthless laugh, “a fool then to think he could compete with Uncle Malek.”

“Indeed and we have no time for fools.” Salim said taking a seat once more. “So instead my son, tell me, how is your life in the city?”

 

It had been a long journey but Salim was finally making his way back to his own quarters. He was endlessly grateful to see Malek freshly bathed and waiting for him with fruit, bread and wine.

“Come beloved, eat. Then we shall wash the desert from your fur.”

Salim sat, not on the cushions opposite Malek but beside him almost in his lover’s lap. “Feed me my love. I am weak and weary from the road.” He lolled his head back looking up hopefully at Malek.

Malek laughed, taking a fig from the bowl and peeling it delicately. “This is why I am your favourite is it not? No one else would spoil you in such a manner.”

“I would adore you even if you did not feed me but the fact that you do is a most wonderful bonus.” Salim reached out using his cane to bring his satchel toward himself. “As is this.” He produced a golden armband inlaid with gleaming onyx. Catching Malek’s wrist he slid the band up to Malek’s forearm. “Ah look how well it suits you.”

Indeed the black and gold matched well with Malek’s fur, a subtle adornment. Just as he liked. Malek admired it. “Where did this even come from Salim? A month on the road and I never saw it.”

“I found it on a sleeping guard who should have been watching a very conspicuous door.” Salim smirked.

Malek began carding his fingers through Salim’s hair. “You will make the young ones jealous.”

“Bah!” Salim spat. “I tell no lies to my band, if they cannot accept that my heart belongs too many then they do not belong with me.” He yawned. 

“I hear Cassim is here.” Malek said.

“Yes, we are forty again.”

“Well… thirty-nine and a half.” Malek gave a soft laugh. “After all I am still just a grocer’s son who ran away with a thief.”

“Nonsense. You are clever Malek, one of the cleverest among us. Your sharp wits have saved us as often as Aaleyah’s sharp blade has. You are just as valuable as any other thief in our band.”

“You are too kind beloved.”

Salim let out another jaw-cracking yawn. “Everything is as it should be.” He murmured, his eyes drifting closed.

“Yes it is.” Malek confirmed.

Salim would rest his eyes, just for a moment before his bath.

He was safe here.

He was at peace.

He was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have read some of my other works then you may know I headcanon Salim as a polyamorous bisexual and I thought it'd be fun to write a glimpse into 'a day in the life' of my headcanon Salim in his prime. Hence the staggering number of characters I tried to cram into this chapter.
> 
> I dunno I just kind of love the idea that Salim al-Kupar had a self sufficient, free-love, outlaw commune hidden away in the desert.
> 
> If you're interested in any backstory of the OCs I mentioned in this chapter drop me a message on tumblr (moonstone-writes) because I have headcanons ABOUND.
> 
> Other chapters will be coming slowly but surely.


	3. Middle America, 1959

Always stay one step ahead of the enemy, her father had told her. Always be ready to adapt, to change. Anything to avoid being caught.

And Marguerite Elisie Cooper had taken that to heart.

She accepted new names and new roles as readily as a snake shedding it’s skin. First she had been Marguerite, a girl in a manor house in Paris, beloved daughter and youngest sister.

Then the war had come spreading across the continent like an unstoppable fire with the rest of the world as only so much kindling. And one by one she had lost her family, parents, brothers, cousins until only she remained. Elisie, codename The Shadow.

And the Shadow had fought and stolen, gotten blood on her hands and her cane, a cane that was an ill fit in her hands. A cane she had never meant to wield but the one made for her had long been lost, a prop in a collapsing tunnel. 

But even through all the loss and the death she’d also managed to meet a good man. Captain Michael Johnson, an American, a spy.

A wartime romance, but a lasting one.

And when the war had ended she had been only too keen to cast aside the bloody shell that Elisie, the Shadow had been and embrace a new identity.

Now she was Mary Johnson, a mother and a wife. No one in her small town knew that she had once fought Nazis or that she kept a thieving legacy locked away in a strongbox under her bed.

Perhaps best of all she felt safe here from the owl.

She shivered trying to force aside a memory of shadows and fire, her grandfather refusing to run with the rest of the family. Those were Marguerite’s fears not Mary’s, and she was Mary now. 

“Mary.” She muttered to herself blowing smoke toward the darkening sky. “Mary.” She repeated, for sometimes even she needed reminding. “Mary, Mary quite contrary, how does your garden grow?” With silver coins and ancient treasure and death traps all in a row. It was about time for a trip to the vault, she thought to herself. A shame she had nothing to put in it.

The sound of the gate opening drew her from her thoughts,

“Mike?” She called.

Her husband rounded the corner of the house. “I’m home.”

She extended a hand to him, “welcome home. Jeez you look like shit, want a smoke?”

Michael pulled at his tie to loosen it, his cap already tucked under one arm. “Oh god like you wouldn’t believe.” He dropped his briefcase to the grass and leaned in to kiss her cheek.

“Rough day?”

“Ugh. Colonel Jackson continues to be a small minded prick.” Michael mumbled accepting a cigarette and lighting it off hers. He took a long drag, tipping his head back to blow smoke. “Everything else is….”

“Classified, yes I know.” She said. Tilting her head she took a moment to admire him in the twilight. His fur, so much darker than hers that it was almost black was beginning to silver at the tips and even with the tired, hollowness in his face these days (she was going to burn that awful base down one day soon) he was still beautiful. “You know I can help you out with Jackson if you want.” She cast Michael a grin.

Her husband spluttered, choking on his cigarette smoke. “What? No. God, Mary no!”

“Suit yourself.” She muttered trying to keep the sulky edge out of her voice. 

Michael kneaded his temple with his free hand. “Where’s Conner?” He asked voice strained as he fished desperately for a subject change.

“At the Goldsteins’ for a sleepover.” She said. “Y’know Mikey I wouldn’t kill Jackson.” _She'd just find a way to destroy his life_.

Michael shot her a pleading look, “Mary please… I… how about you tell me about your day? Please? If I have to think about that damn base for one more minute I’m going to get a nosebleed.”

She blew a smoke ring up toward the sky. “I dunno Mikey, do you really want to hear about the political drama of the local PTA bake sale?”

“It will be a welcome relief.” Michael said slumping against the side of the house, throwing the jacket of his dress uniform on top of his briefcase.

“I baked madeleines.”

He hummed in response. “Mm you mentioned that you wanted to try, how did they turn out?”

“Pretty shit. But in my defence I was baking from a half remembered recipe _and_ I had to get half of my ingredients from tins so I think I did as well as can be expected.”

“Nothing wrong with a good tin. They got us through the war.”

“Yes and I am thoroughly sick of them.” She stubbed out her cigarette with more viciousness than necessary and lit a new one. She missed the days of her childhood, of fresh cheeses and vegetables from her grandmother’s garden. But that was Marguerite again, Mary bought Jell-O and spam at the local supermarket and liked it. She sighed, “anyway so I get down to the hall with my shitty madeleines to help set up and wouldn’t you know everyone is standing around having a gossip. Turns out _someone_ had left these photographs everywhere,” She gestured around herself, “photographs of Beth Henderson buying her famous, oh-so-special, old secret family recipe lemon bars.”

A wrinkle appeared between Michael’s brows, “Mary… what did you do?”

She allowed a proud smile to grace her lips, “I followed her.” She leaned in close to her husband to whisper. “Oh she thought she was being so clever going two towns over but I’ve tracked across countries.”

Michael didn’t smile back, just the opposite. He was staring at her aghast. “Mary… Mary what of someone had seen you?”

“When was I ever seen?” She retorted hotly. “And what if I was? I’m just a housewife running an errand? Do you think I just went bumbling along without a cover story? Do you think I’m an amateur Captain Johnson?” She jabbed her cigarette at him.

She watched her husband drag his hands down his poor, tired face. “We’re not at war anymore Mary, why would you do this?”

She snorted loudly. “Beth Henderson needed to be taken down a peg, always acting like the queen of her own little kingdom or worse like… like a _dictator_.” She breathed. “And she’s always saying awful things about the Goldsteins, I don’t know about you but I seem to recall fighting a war to help people like them. But she wasn’t there was she? Beth Henderson didn’t have to watch her family die…” Her voice wavered. She saw her smiling older brother up to his waist in freezing river water holding out their father’s cane to her. Her youngest brother kissing her forehead, promising to come back but never returning. Three brothers, then two, then none. “She doesn’t know what it’s like to hide in the dark, to be hunted, to have to leave your friends to be captured…” Her hands shook, the American accent she had so carefully affected over the years falling away. “She never had to… she never had to…” Finally she lapsed into French, feeling tears and tremors at the memories rise up and threaten to consume her.

Had it really been fifteen years? In her mind the scent of cordite and death felt as fresh as ever.

“Mary _!_ ” Michael put a hand on her shoulder shaking her slightly then pulling her against himself. “Elisie.” He whispered. “It’s alright, you’re safe it’s over.” His tongue tripped over his clumsy, out of practice French. “You’re safe, you’re home. I’m here Elisie.” He rocked her, stroking her hair and gently, slowly talked her down until she had recovered herself.  


“Elisie.” She croaked finally able to remember her English. That was an old name. “You haven’t called me that in years.” 

“You told me not to.” He said.

A fair point. “I did.” She nodded. ‘Elisie is dead’ she’d told him, a new name for a new life. Mary, she was Mary now. She took a few slow, shaky breaths.

“I can’t believe you followed our neighbour over lemon bars.” Michael muttered against her hair.

“I followed her because she was being an anti-Semitic bitch.” She clarified. “But it was fun… doing what I’m good again.” She giggled, perhaps slightly hysterically. Maybe now that their little man was getting older she’d have a chance to flex her muscles more often as she trained him. 

The hand Michael was stroking through her hair stilled, “…Mary.” He warned, “let’s not make a habit of this.”

She tensed. “I make no promises.” She muttered against his shoulder.

“Mary… this isn’t… you don’t need to do this. Aren’t you happy? Don’t we have enough?”

It wasn’t a matter of need, it wasn’t a matter of enough. It was a matter of nature. She was a Cooper and her nature itched under her skin. It whispered to her. It set her fingers twitching as the women around her, shallow and superficial in their sensibilities gossiped, their words full of casual hatred.

_Justice, justice, justice_. It burned like a flame in the back of her mind but she would always bite her tongue and force a smile. She was Mary now and Mary was not a thief.

“I don’t want to steal from our neighbours Mikey. That’s not what my family does, I’ve told you this.”

Her dear, sweet husband pulled back to blink helplessly at her. Michael was a good man, a straightforward one and this was a part of her that he simply could not understand. That she couldn’t give up what was a fundamental part of herself just because they were at peace He cupped her face in his hands looking into her eyes, searching for something. “Please Mary… what would Conner and I do without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere mon amour.” She said curling her fingers into the starched fabric of his uniform.

He sagged. “Good. Can we… can we go inside?” And her strapping husband sounded so small.

She nodded, they’d talk about this again later she was certain.

Always be ready to adapt, always be ready to change, she thought as she followed Michael up the back stairs. Always be ready to shed your skin like a snake but snakes shed when their skins grew too small, snakes shed when they needed to escape their confines.

And Marguerite Elisie Cooper could feel the confines of her life pressing in around her like a second skin. Her jaw aching from forced smiles and American expectations made her desperate to push back.

Shed her skin, start a new life.

She paused watching her husband’s striped tail swaying ahead of her.

_Could she do that?_

“Mary?” Michael looked over his shoulder back to her, reaching out a hand.

She quickly closed the distance and laced her fingers with his.

No, not yet.

She’d be Mary Johnson a little longer yet. She loved her husband, frustrating though he could be and she had her little man to think of, the last Cooper. She had to train him, give him his grandfather’s cane.

Protect him from the owl.

She kissed her husband’s fingers, slipping around him to take the lead dragging him through the kitchen. “Come mon amour.” She whispered. “Place to ourselves tonight.”

She watched Michael’s expression soften as he drew her in for a kiss, she responded greedily catching her fingers in his hair.

They’d be alright.

At least tonight, they’d be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sly isn't the only Cooper to get restless in his retirement.
> 
> I have A LOT of feelings about Elisie, my poor bundle of PTSD and unhealthy coping mechanisms
> 
> I think I've decided on alternating canon ancestors and OCs so the next chapter should feature some names from the Thievius.
> 
> As always if have questions about my OCs drop me an ask on tumblr <3

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I put a pair OCs in the first chapter. 
> 
> The idea of regency era Coopers fascinates me. The whole 'gentleman thief' archetype getting a real work out, Austen levels of pining, symbolic and literal masks...  
> One day I'll write a longer fic about this time period. 
> 
>  
> 
> Canon ancestors to debut soon


End file.
